


Day 1: Holding Hands

by SallySkellington18



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, minor injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 20:38:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2665580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SallySkellington18/pseuds/SallySkellington18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock encounters a tiny foe and John helps put Sherlock back together.  Day 1 of the 30 Day OTP Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 1: Holding Hands

Sherlock came to on the ground with a distinct gap in his memory.  He could remember shouting at Lestrade while dashing away from the cluster of panda cars, calling for John to follow him.  Then he could remember mapping the quickest route to the abandoned section of flats where he knew their suspect would be hiding and he could remember the sounds of John’s breathing behind him as they ran.  Then…oh!  Then John shouted out something that sounded suspiciously like Sherlock’s own name, and then… nothing.  Sherlock replayed the scenario but couldn't pull anything further out of his mind palace after John’s shout.

John?  Where  _is_ John?

Sherlock began to lever himself into an upright position, but a sudden blinding pain in his head and an accompanying wave of nausea knocked him back onto the wet pavement.  He gingerly turned his head to the side and called out.

‘John?’

Sherlock’s voice sounded strange, even to his own ears.  He didn't have time to ponder it, however, because uttering that single syllable turned the wave of nausea into an actual threat of sicking up.  Ignoring the pain in his head, Sherlock rolled to his side and emptied the meager contents of his stomach onto the pavement.

‘Sherlock, it’s all right.  You’re okay.’

John was behind Sherlock ( _When did he get here?  Has he been here the whole time and I didn't notice?_ What happened _that I don’t remember?_ ) rubbing Sherlock’s back and brushing the hair off his now sweat-slicked forehead.

‘What happ-’ Sherlock began voicing his concerns while attempting to sit up, but John placed a hand on his chest and slowly pushed him back down to the pavement.

‘No getting up yet, let me check you out.  That was quite a blow for such a young kid.’

And then it clicked in Sherlock’s mind.  The younger brother!  Sherlock forget to factor in the younger brother in his calculations.  There’s always something…

George Hewitt, their suspect of fraudulent trading, must have told Shane, his younger brother, not to interfere before running off into hiding.  When Lestrade and his team turned up at the Hewitt house with a warrant, Shane must have followed them in an attempt to keep them away from his older brother.

‘The little brother.  The little brother was hiding in the alley just around the corner, spying on Lestrade’s team.  And he heard the two of us coming.  What did he hit me with?  A pipe?  No, it felt more solid than a pipe…’

John chuckled as he started running his fingers over Sherlock’s scalp.  ‘A cricket bat.  He would have done much more damage if he was just a bit taller.  As it is, he clipped you pretty hard right on the back of your head.’

Sherlock hissed as John’s fingers encountered a tender spot.  John drew his fingers away and shook his head at the small amount of blood.

‘It doesn't look too bad.  You might be slightly concussed, but I’ll want to check it out more thoroughly at the flat.’  John got his hands under Sherlock.  ‘Think you’re ready to try sitting up?’

Sherlock shot John a sour glare to hide the nausea he felt at the thought of moving.  But never one to back down from a challenge, Sherlock sat up.  Albeit, he sat up slowly and with plenty of help from John.  Sherlock sat for a minute to gather his bearings and then began to stand.

‘Woah,’ John startled before wrapping one arm around Sherlock’s back to steady the swaying man.  ‘Take it easy, I know I said it doesn't look too bad, but I don’t want you passing out on me again in the middle of a dirty alleyway.’

‘We've got company.’  There was a slight slur to Sherlock’s speech that he tried to distract from by wrapping his Belstaff closer around his body.

Lestrade skidded around the corner into the alley and took in the scene before him.  John was standing next to Sherlock, steadfast as ever, but Sherlock seemed to be swaying just the tiniest bit.

‘Who’s passing out in the middle of the alley?’ Lestrade asked.

‘No one, Greg, everything’s fine.’  John smiled demurely.  ‘I just need to get this one home.  He took quite the hit to the back of his head.  I think he’s all right, but I want to get him back to the flat and check everything a bit more thoroughly.’

‘A hit to the head?  What happened after you two ran off?’  Lestrade looked tired.  Sherlock’s, and by proxy, John’s, antics were all too familiar to the DI.

‘Shane, George’s little brother, is handcuffed to a fence about 15 meters around that corner,’ John pointed.  ‘He knew we were on to George and his hiding place, so he was waiting for us with a cricket bat.  Sherlock came around the corner first, so Sherlock was the one to get hit with the cricket bat.’

Lestrade sighed and could barely restrain his eye roll.  ‘Cricket bat?’

‘Yes, it should still be right around the corner where the kid dropped it.’

‘Fine.  Go take care of Sherlock.  I’ll pop ‘round in the morning to take your statements.’  Lestrade gave John a pointed look as Sherlock swayed more noticeably and turned slightly green.

‘Thanks Greg.  We’ll see you tomorrow.’  John smiled as he wrapped an arm around Sherlock once again and began leading him in the direction of the main road so they could catch a cab.

When they were far enough away from the flashing lights to be secluded on a side street, John gently pushed Sherlock against the brick wall.

‘Are you feeling all right?  I don’t want us to get into a cab and then have you lose your lunch all over the back seat.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, John.  There is nothing left in my stomach, and even if I were to be sick, I would most likely be sick on you.  That way we wouldn't have to pay extra fare.’

‘Oh, thanks, that makes me feel better,’ John chuckled and rubbed his face.  ‘Seriously, though, we can take a minute if you need one.’

Instead of answering, Sherlock closed his eyes and rested his head back against the brick.  He started taking deep, measured breaths to prepare himself for the short, but undoubtedly nauseating cab ride awaiting them.

Eyes still closed, after a few moments he said, ‘Go ahead and get a cab.  I’ll be along by the time you've found one.’

John looked at Sherlock for a moment before reaching out to squeeze his shoulder gently.  ‘All right, I’ll have one waiting.’

Sherlock listened to John’s departing footsteps and slowly opened his eyes.  He steeled himself for the short walk to the road, and after taking one more fortifying breath, set off.

True to his word, John had a cab waiting when Sherlock emerged from the alley.  John watched his slow, yet steady progress towards the waiting vehicle.  Neither man said anything as Sherlock slid into the back seat, closing the door behind him.  John noticed Sherlock’s wince at the noise of the closing door, but said nothing as Sherlock tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

Sherlock wouldn't admit it, but the movement of the cab through late night London traffic made his stomach roll.  He focused his efforts on keeping his face neutral and his nausea under control.  Just as he was convincing himself the cabbie must have gotten lost and taken them on the longest detour possible, and considering the kindest way to lean over and throw up on John’s jumper, John took his hand.  The move was so unexpected Sherlock almost opened his eyes.  Instead, he narrowed his focus down to that single point of contact.

John continued to hold his hand, resting their entwined fingers on the seat between them.  There was no other movement of fingers or wrists as their cab wound its way back to Baker Street.  Sherlock noted John’s hand was small in his own and that it was warm.  The calluses from John’s Browning were just rough enough that Sherlock could feel them.  John’s palm was a little clammy, drying sweat left over from following Sherlock and subduing the evening’s adolescent attacker, but Sherlock found that holding John’s hand was not a wholly unpleasant experience.  In fact, as the cab drew to a stop, Sherlock realized that the contact had helped him push his pain and nausea to the back of his mind.

John let go of Sherlock’s hand and leaned forward to pay the driver as Sherlock began slowly making his way out of the cab and towards the building.  John was quick to open the door and hovered just behind Sherlock as they made their way up the seventeen steps and to their flat.  John had dealt with an injured Sherlock enough times to know that the man would want his space, but John also didn't want to be too far off if said strength failed the detective.

Once both men were in the flat and had taken off their coats, John ushered Sherlock into the bathroom.  Sherlock groaned and attempted to roll his eyes at John, but the pain in his head caused the motion to be more a of a pain-inducing eye twitch.

‘I know, but it’ll only take a minute.’ John guided Sherlock onto the closed toilet seat and then pulled the first aid kit out from under the sink.  ‘I just want to check out that cut and look at your pupils again.’

Sherlock conceded by closing his eyes and thinking of the snarky remarks he would retort with if his stomach wasn't quite so unsettled.

John tilted Sherlock’s head down and gently parted Sherlock’s hair to look at the cut.  After dabbing at it with an antiseptic wipe and deeming it superficial, he tilted Sherlock’s head again.

‘Sherlock, I need you to open your eyes.  I know this will be annoying, but it’ll only take a minute.  Then you can go to bed.’  John rested his hand on Sherlock’s thigh as he spoke.

‘What?  You aren't going to wake me repeatedly throughout the night to make sure I’m not brain damaged?’  Sherlock cracked his eyes open and tried to glare at John.

‘Well, yes, but hopefully you’ll be so tired, you won’t even notice.’  John checked Sherlock’s pupil dilation.  ‘How long has it been since you had a proper rest, anyway?  Three days?’

‘Mm’ Sherlock hummed non-committedly.

John sighed.  ‘Sherlock, you really need to take better care of yourself.  This injury isn't even that bad, but your body is shutting you down and taking the chance to get the rest it needs.’

Sherlock closed his eyes and hummed again.  John rolled his eyes and helped his friend stand.

‘Need any help getting ready for bed, or can you handle it?’ John walked with Sherlock as far as the adjoining bedroom door and then stopped.

‘I’ll be fine’ Sherlock muttered.

‘All right, I’m going to get changed and then bring you some paracetamol.’  John left the bathroom and headed towards his room.  He changed quickly and then returned downstairs to get Sherlock the needed tablets.  When John walked into Sherlock’s room, Sherlock was lying asleep on his bed, on top of the duvet and fully dressed except for his shoes and socks, which were lying in a heap on the floor next to the bed.

John laughed and gently nudged Sherlock’s shoulder.  ‘Sherlock, come on, you can’t sleep like that.’

John helped Sherlock out of his suit and into a pair of pajama bottoms.  Sherlock swallowed his tablets groggily and then allowed John to tuck him into bed.  Sherlock was fast asleep before John pulled the duvet all the way up.

John dragged the chair from next to Sherlock’s dresser across the room and settled it next to the bed.  He draped a throw blanket from the living room over himself and set the alarm on his phone to wake him up throughout the night in order to rouse Sherlock.  Just as John was settling in to fall asleep, he noticed Sherlock’s hand snake out from under the covers, palm up and fingers slightly parted.  John smiled and scooted his chair a bit closer.

The two men fell asleep that night holding hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is my first story, so any concrit, comments, or suggestions you have would be more than welcome. Hope you enjoyed the domestic fluff and Doctor!John :)
> 
> (Also, I don't own any of it. But you knew that all ready, didn't you? :P )
> 
> -RJ


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